Evil Grins For Evil Plans
by gote
Summary: Katie would swear on her sanity that she doesn't want to join her team mates for a game of truth or dare. Too bad that too is up for debate. Implied Katie/Oliver. Written for round three of the Fanfiction Idol Competition on HPFC.


**For:** Fanfiction Idol Competition! -HPFC

**Requirements:**

**Genre:** comedy

**Prompts:** _let me tell you a story, moonlight,_ and _truth or dare_

**Author Note:** Reviews are more than appreciated, I'm really uncertain about how this turned out. And -I hate to say it but every time I don't it happens- please don't favourite without reviewing. Also, remember to check out other entrants' work and vote (for your least favourites) when it's time. Hope you enjoy! :)_  
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><p><strong><em>Evil Grins For Evil Plans<em>**

When Alicia smiles in that way with a glint like that one twinkling mischievously in her eyes, you know you're in trouble. Or, more accurately, you know you'll be in trouble in the near future. But she's Alicia and if she's anything, she's fun, and maybe you'll nearly die in the process of whatever crazy idea she's got planned for you, but you'll have the time of your life doing so.

Or at least that's what I tell myself to settle my nerves over my obviously impending doom and maybe also as an attempt at convincing myself that I don't really care that my rather short and unlived life is to be tragically cut off early.

Insert some nervous laughter here because, oh Merlin, I'm going to die.

I'll have you know that I personally believe that truth or dare is never a good idea in general, because, believe it or not, drastically humiliating myself in the most public way possible isn't my idea of a fun night. It's even worse however, if the game you're to play is organised by Alicia Spinnet. Then it just reaches an entirely new level. Gryffindor or not, my self-preservation gene does in fact work so, if you haven't picked up on it already, I'm less than enthused at the entire prospect.

"Come on, girls," I say in what I hope is a tone that conveys cheer and the potential for good, non-humiliating times, rather just the fact that I simultaneously feel the need to faint and throw up. Doing so, if you'd believe, is not how you one "gets the boys," as Alicia would probably say. The prospect of doing so (well, I'd settle for one. And not a certain Quidditch captain-ing one, as my team mates love to believe. Unless he's offering…) is really the only thing keeping me at this school and stopping me from dropping out to fulfil my life long dream of becoming a spider monkey. "We could, umm, play chess?" My suggestion comes across as weak, even to me, but I smile widely and although it's probably more frightening than convincing I _am_trying my hardest, and I like to think that's what counts. Yes, sometimes I come across like a muggle kindergarten teacher. What of it?

They both look at me like I'm they might think I'm mad.

"Katie," says Alicia almost kindly (almost is really the best you can get with Leesh. I take what I can get). "You're mad."

My perception skills appear to be quite accurate. _Bingo_, me.

"And you hate chess," adds Angelina.

…Drats. I'm caught.

I glance around the room in hopes that doing so will bring to me a master plan, an explosive idea, a genius way out of this situation, and, get excited, because this is the part where you really get see my distraction skills in their full and impressive glory.

"Look over there!" I exclaim, pointing over their shoulders.

They don't look.

"Katie," says Angelina in the tone people usually reserve for the mentally slow. "You do this every day. There is nothing there. There never was anything there and there never will be anything there."

"I'm going to put something there just so you're proved wrong," I say, because that's the mature kind of person I am.

Alicia rolls over on her bed so she's lying on her back and looks across the room at me with her ridiculously blue eyes with their ridiculously long eyelashes that I don't even understand how she can see out of. I've spent far too many of Oliver's pre-match lectures puzzling over the mere existence of her vision and haven't reached any logical explanation. The best I can come up with is that her urge to flutter them at any good looking boy that passes her way outreaches even the laws of the universe.

Yes, that's as close as I've gotten.

Remember that grin I was talking about? Well, she grins at me, and two is just far too many times to see it in the one night so I'm tempted to dive from this bed I'm on (I haven't the slightest clue who it belongs to but I may have lost my chewing gum in their sheets. Whoops!) and jump straight onto her, slamming my hand over mouth and stopping whatever words are planning on escaping her pretty little mouth.

I'd do it, I would, but knowing Alicia she'd probably take the gesture to be sexual. It's not, however. It's nothing but a preventative measure and possibly a sign of an overdramatic and potentially violent personality. There's a difference.

"You're just nervous because Oliver will be playing and you think we're going to dare you to snog him," is the startlingly untrue accusation hurtled my way that in no way makes my stomach turn or my cheeks blush.

Hahahahaha, I laugh to myself, what an insane, completely and ridiculously false theory that is. It's not true at all. Really. It's not. Would I lie to you?

…Umm, don't answer that.

I happen to be really lucky that my mouth is saner than my brain and speaks before I can formulate a response that, knowing my track record, will do nothing but make the situation worse for myself. And probably contain mention of gazelles. I swear I'm sane, I am. Comparing the sanity of my brain to that of my mouth is really saying something seeing as my mouth doesn't even have a state of sanity. It is, funnily enough, a mouth.

"Are you going to dare me that?" my mouth asks with only a touch of nervousness to it.

Alicia grins. "Of course."

"Oh," I say with a slight hysterical edge to my tone. "How unreasonable my fear is then!"

"You're a Gryffindor!" exclaims Leesh, bouncing into a sitting position. "Confront your fears!"

"The only confrontation there will be will be between my fist and your face."

"Girls," warns Ange sharply, but she doesn't even look up from her Quidditch magazine so I know she doesn't really care if we off each other. "What have I said about death threats?"

"Hey," I object. "I never said my punch would be fatal."

Ange adopt her mother talking to a naughty child tone. Yes, she has one of those. "But does that make it okay?" she asks.

I smile innocently. "If I break her face then boys might look twice at us."

Point one to me. No one can argue with that logic. Except that boys do like Angelina.

Angelina laughs, shaking her head.

"Oliver will be more than looking at you, if we get our way," says Alicia, wiggling her eyebrows up and down in a way that is not at all subtle. Forget me, that girl is an absolute nutter.

It looks suspiciously like a twitch. "Are you having a stroke?" I ask, showing nothing but kind regard and concern for my beloved friend.

"Dear Katie," says Alicia loudly, as if writing a letter. "Stop changing the subject, you deluded love sick twat. Kind regards, Alicia."

Charming.

"Love sick?" I repeat, my mouth dropping open. "I do not love Oliver!" I say, making it quite adamant.

Alicia grins like we've just won the house cup. "I never said anything about our dear captain, did I?" she asks.

Merlin's ankles. She didn't, did she?

I turn as red as a tomato and for a moment almost wish I was one. They don't have to deal with this sort of thing, do they? I don't know any tomatoes who have friends who are deluded into thinking they are in love another of their friends. Do potatoes even have friends? I doubt it. They're just grown and then eaten. What an easy life.

"Stop spluttering, kiddo," says Alicia, her voice taking on a touch of the American. "It's story time!"

She pats the space beside her and I raise a questioning eyebrow in her general direction. "Are you expecting me to sit over there?" I ask.

"I'm not expecting you, I'm making you," she answers. "Move, bitch."

I move. Partly because I'm a pathetic pushover and partly because I know she'd probably pull my hair out if I didn't. She's a lovely girl, dear, sweet, Alicia.

"Does Angelina have to come too?" I ask. Quite reasonably, I believe.

I thought I was being reasonable in asking, but Alicia doesn't seem to think the same way about my words and looks at me as if I just suggested she move to Nepal and take up yodelling and mountain goat juggling. "No," she answers slowly, giving me a weird look. "She can do what she likes."

I see Ange smirk slightly, still not looking up from her magazine. She's barely been paying us any attention. She's probably perving. I know for certain that that particular issue has a particularly dishy centrefold of shirtless Puddlemere United players. Ask her, however, and she'll tell you she's reading a thrilling and informative article on the misuse of defensive tactics. Absolute bollocks.

"I'm being discriminated against," I announce.

I'm merely shushed. Why do I put up with this? I need new friends.

"Be quiet," says Alicia, strangely politely for her. I almost fall off the bed in shock. Where are all the explicatives? Why have I not been called anything even slightly insulting? I feel empty inside until I realise that she's probably trying to lull me into a false sense of security before she does something extra devious when I'm least expecting it. This doesn't please me as my ear is in poking distance of her wand and that is never a safe distance to be within. "Let me tell you a story," she says.

"I wish you'd informed me that was what story time was going to consist of," I say. "I would've come prepared."

She ignores me and my rather humourous –in my opinion- sarcasm.

"Once upon a time," she begins dramatically, and she's grinning that grin so I'm prepared for the next words to come instead of being struck with the sudden urge to murder her. "There was a overdramatic girl named Katie Bell and an overly handsome Quidditch captain named Oliver Wood." My head falls into the pillow below in what Alicia and Ange would call an example of my dramatics but which I believe to be an under-response to the situation at hand. "There was also a beautiful, talented witch named Alicia Spinnet. Ange was there too but she's not really important in this."

Ange lets out a snort of indignation and then we're both subjected to a tale that involves Alicia The Stunning or whatever she's calling herself brewing a genius plan involving large amounts of alcohol and a game of truth or dare that she sets into action on a night suspiciously like tonight. The game in the story consists of a lot more eyelash fluttering and sideways looks than would ever exist in reality, and it's just reaching the climax of her story, with Katie The Lovingly Idiotic and Oliver The Attractive But Insane reaching in to kiss when I interrupt.

"ALRIGHT, story time's _over_!"

Alicia looks positively offended. "No, it's not!" she exclaims, and hits me with a rather heavy text book.

To be honest I'm more surprised that she owns such a thing.

"Oww!" I complain. "It will be if you're dead!" (Sorry Ange!) I push Alicia off the bed. Haha, take tha-

She grabs hold of me and pulls me down with her. We fall to the ground in a tangle of limbs, hitting blindly at each other like the terrible fighters we are.

The timing couldn't have been worse, because who enters the room then but Fred and George. The pervy idiot twins themselves. Who even knows how they manage to make it into the girls' dorms? I sure don't.

"Now, now, ladies," says Fred, smirking. "Not until the game begins."

"You're perverted," I inform him with an overly fake smile. I try to be cutting in my tone but it's difficult in a position as undignified as this one.

Fred smiles back in much the same manner. "Your underwear is showing," he says.

I glower and try to cover myself up with as much dignity as I can muster. ie. Not much.

George is laughing. The git. Why must there be two of them? They completely conform to the double the trouble cliché. I wouldn't like it even if it weren't so predicable.

"Come along, Katiekates," says Fred, grinning. "Join the fun, tonight."

He's talking about the truth or dare game, of course, but his tone is constantly suggestive and it's always a constant struggle not to hear double meaning in his words. I smile back at him. "No, thank you," I say sweetly. "I think I'll stay here and stick pins into my eyeballs instead."

"As thrilling and safe as that sounds," says George, taking up the mantle. "Oliver has requested your presence personally.

Involuntarily, my heart skips a beat, making me feel like a walking cliché. Stupid feelings, I want nothing to do with them. I manage to keep my face level, though and I ask, suspiciously, "And why would that be?"

If I've learnt one thing over the years which isn't how to transform objects from one useless form to another slightly less useless form (and I like to hope that I have), it's to never trust the Weasley twins. Unless of course you're trusting them to lie or to put something alive and squirming into your breakfast. Then, trust ahead!

"He wishes the two of you to wed," George answers, straight faced.

"And by that you mean you've deceived him into believing this is something else entirely, don't you?" I say.

"Well, he may believe we're meeting for an extra training session."

Typical. I roll my eyes and I don't think a smidgen of hurt enters my tone because why would I feel hurt? "Of course."

"Don't be like that, Katherine, darling," says Fred, who I've only told a thousand times that that isn't my name. "How else were we to convince him to take off his clothes and frolic in the moonlight?"

I just stare at them. "I actually don't know how to respond to that," I say honestly.

"Don't act all shocked," says Fred. "We got the idea from your dream diary?"

"I have a dream diary?" I question, quite reasonably I believe, seeing as I _don__'__t_have a dream diary.

George nods. "Yes. It's really quite scandalous."

"Keeping a diary is really the opposite of scandalous," I say, strangely defensive of my non-existent one.

"Not when it contains as many dirty things as yours does," says Fred. "My poor innocent eyes."

Both Ange and Alicia let out a disbelieving snort of laughter at that comment.

I take back everything I said about them. I do love those girls.

"It's funny," I say. "You'd think that if I wrote a dream diary I'd have at least some memory of doing so."

"Oh, you didn't write it," says George.

Fred completes his sentence. "But we did sign your name on the cover and that's almost the same thing."

The urge to turn them both into toadstools overcomes me, and I'm just reaching for my wand when I grabbed from either side, and looking from left to right, see Angelina and Alicia slipping their arms through mine.

"Come on, Katie," says Angelina in her no nonsense, businesslike tone, beginning to drag me towards the door. "Oliver's waiting."

I wish I can say I valiantly fought to stand my ground, to not give in and stay where I was, but the most I do is squirm a little. After all, I'm a Gryffindor and Oliver is waiting.


End file.
